


drag me down (i won't mind)

by erisian (fraisage)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: General Absurdity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Zouis-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraisage/pseuds/erisian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the first time we got high (the first time we fell in love)</p>
            </blockquote>





	drag me down (i won't mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlepinkbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepinkbow/gifts).



Louis William Tomlinson is a whiny little bitch and everyone and their mother knows it. He knows it and revels in his. His mum’s known it since he came out of the womb screaming with sheer indignity. God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit knows it. And Allah sure as hell knows it from the amount of times Zayn has called upon him for the patience and strength to deal with Louis.

Actually, the fact that God and Allah are one and the same might end up fucking Louis over in the long-run. Because between Zayn and the rest of his boys, Louis must be blowin’ up God’s mentions, to be quite honest. Well, Louis’ always loved to make an entrance, and there’s no bigger entrance than to the Pearly Gates.

And anyone who’s fucking him on a regular basis sure as hell knows it, because Louis’ always ten times whinier and just a bit pouty when he’s in love and having his regular fucking-quota met.

So Zayn damn well knows it, as a matter of fact fucking loves it when Louis acts like a needy little bitch.

 

*

 

Zayn’s kitchen is all slick chrome appliances and marble-granite countertops. Solid wood-grain cabinets and a fucking crystal chandelier to quite literally top it all off, casting it’s annoyingly-soft light across the room.

Which is quite annoying only because it’s the sole source of light in the room at this point in time. So Louis hopes to god the light, insufficient as it is, is catching all his good angles. Because he definitely isn’t getting up off the cold tile anytime soon, and Louis may be a come-soaked mess right now but he wants to be a _beautiful_ one. He doesn’t let jizz get all over his cheekbones because it’s good for his skin, y’know. Then again, maybe it is. Louis’ skin has actually gotten really good in the past five years, come to think of it. Even though he never uses any of the oodles of skincare companies send out to them, like the kind for real famous-types. La Mermaid or summat.

Honestly though, who is he kidding. Louis William Tomlinson always looks pretty fucking great.

Zayn generally seems to think so, anyway. Ideally he’d be here admiring his handiwork like he should be instead of wherever the hell he’s gone off to.

But speak of the devil and he shall appear, crouches down to get one arm around the small of Louis’ back before hauling him up, light as a feather.

“Come on babes.” A wonderfully-welcome cigarette’s pressed against his lips, and that must’ve been where Zayn went off to, lighting up cigarettes for them on the hob. Because why go find an actual lighter when you could blow-up your million-pounds house with an ill-fated gas explosion. It’s not like Louis hasn’t bought him a new lighter just the other day. An absolutely sick one with a tiger’s face. He’d seen it on the coffee table when they’d come in, laying on a nest of piled-high paint cans. Which, come to think of it, might be another explosion waiting to happen.

Whatever, he’s not Liam. If they get blown up it’ll be Liam’s fault for not giving them a good scolding. Leaving the hob on and paint cans everywhere and what does he expect because Louis and Zayn together are just, like, _fire_.

Health and safety risks aside, there’s his perfect boy. Because Zayn always knows what Louis needs after a good fuck. He thinks the smoke does do wonders to clear out all the residual screaming from his lungs. Just what the doctor ordered.

And honestly, Zayn can’t expect him not to blow a cloud of smoke back in his face, yeah? Just like Louis can expect him to reach up and twist one of his _rather-tender-no-please!_ nipples in retaliation, and for them to slither back down to the floor in a tangled pile of twisted limbs and squealing.

And since it’s been years-upon-years-upon-years, he knows that Zayn doesn’t just expect it now but fucking _loves_ it. Because it’s not been ten minutes past their last fuck but Louis doesn’t even blink when Zayn’s cock is immediately nudging into his loose hole.

Lovely boy, always knows what Louis needs after a good smoke is another good fuck.

 

*

 

It’s later on, when they’re passing a joint (that Zayn’s so kindly-rolled, Louis didn’t bully him at all into doing it what’re you on about?) between them, that Louis knows it’s gonna be one of those kinds of nights. He always gets so existential when he smokes, not that Louis William Tomlinson isn’t always a fount of insight and knowledge, but still. Sometimes on these nights when he’s high enough, he thinks he could give Harry a run for his money. High like some pretentious, thousand-pound Louis Vuitton, hand-made-to-order kite.

Really, Louis is rather of the strong opinion that he’s completely hilarious and delightfully witty when he’s high as a kite.

Zayn seems to wrong-wrong- _honestly_ -how-awfully-wrong-could-you-possibly-be-I’m-insulted-Zayn- _honestly_ think that all Louis can talk about when he’s high is how high he is.

They can’t both be right, of course. Not when there’s an unwritten rule that Louis is always, always, always right.

Though they can probably both agree that Louis is absolutely delightful.

 

*

 

“D’ya ever wonder where we’d be if Simon hadn’t taken a second look at us, and let us through to Judge’s houses?”

“Would this be before or after they found us fucking in one of the supply closets backstage?”

“Before they found us, but after that time they found me and Harry.”

“Well,” and Zayn makes a big show of looking thoughtful even though Louis _knows_ he’s known what Louis’d been taking about from the beginning, and that _he_ knows Louis knows he knows, “I’d probably be down in Manchester, getting my teaching degree at uni.”

“And me?” He wants to know what fanciful, faux-non-future Zayn could pull out of his imagination for Louis.

“Well,” and there’s that thoughtful-face again, the one that makes Louis want to shave off one of Zayn’s eyebrows he’s so fucking attractive, just to be contrary, “You’d probably still be at school waiting for _me_ to graduate and come and teach you so you could finally pass English and finally get into uni.”

Zayn clearly expects the shower of sharp little smacks and baby slaps to rain down on him after that absolutely-rude-how-very- _dare_ -you comment, quick as his hands come up to block Louis’ palms as soon as the words leave his mouth.

And Louis is quite offended when he realizes Zayn isn’t yelling from pain but laughter. He thinks he’s _so_ funny, the tosser.

“Aww, c’mon babes, I was just jokin’ yeah? You know we’d both be down in Manchester, and I’d be readin’ English and you’d be doing drama or summat. And maybe we’d meet again in some shit gen. ed. course we’d both be required to take, and maybe we’d end up fucking right after the first class. Because I’d never have gotten the chance if they’d kicked us all out then, and wouldn’t that have been a fucking shame?”

Louis can tell he means it, because Zayn’s eyes get really shiny when he’s being earnest, like right-out-of-a-movie, digitally-altered-how-are-you-even-real shiny. But he gives him another soft little smack-pat on the cheek just for good measure. And maybe pinches his nipple a little just to hear him hiss through his perfectly-white teeth. Just to make sure he _knows_ how lucky he is to have Louis. Doesn’t matter that it actually goes both ways, he’s not going to let Zayn pinch his nipples, they’re _very sensitive_ ok?

“But it wouldn’t be so bad if I was your teacher, yeah? Mr. Malik kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?”

“ _Mr. Malik_ ,” Louis runs the syllables over his tongue, makes sure to draw them out in a way he can tell Zayn likes, with the way his eyes darken, _just so_. “And you’d give me extra tutoring sessions wouldn’t ya? On Shakespeare and shit? And dick me down every night after we had a lesson?” He’s getting a little caught up in this fantasy, sue him.

Zayn’s mouth twists just a bit at that, the way Louis can always tell means he’s trying hard not to burst out laughing, “While I’d consider that last bit part of my duties to be the best teacher I could be, I think it’s also really important for you to know, right now, that Shakespeare is _absolute_ shit.

Louis would find Zayn’s opinion on this more valuable if he didn’t know for a fact that Zayn’d voraciously read every book in the _Twilight_ series ten-times over, and only half-because his sisters’ had asked him to read it with them (he can understand the first time, but not the nine-times or more after). And dragged Louis with him to see the first half of _Breaking Dawn_ as soon as it’d come out. There’d been a whole plan with terrible disguises and sneaking into a theater booked-to-the-gills with their teenage compatriots. Of course, while most of the audience had been screaming for Edward or Jacob, Zayn’d taken it upon himself to yell “Edward and Jacob forever!” while the credits rolled.

If he’s honest, Louis’ always been more of a Harry Potter man himself. But he’s always been up for a bit of security-dodging no matter what, especially so if it’d made Zayn happy.

Of course, rather unsurprisingly, this made for an awkward time all-around when One DirectionÔ finally crossed paths with Robert PattinsonÔ. Though Zayn’d look quite cute with his pink cheeks, Louis isn’t afraid to admit he’s the jealous-type. The night’d only gotten a bit better when Edward “Please Don’t Call Me That, _Jesus_ ” Cullen had bought a round of drinks for them all.

Zayn’s _Twilight_ -obsession has petered out in much the same way as Robert Pattinson’s already-low enthusiasm for anything and everything vampire-related. Although, Louis’d gotten him that weird _Twilight_ encyclopedia as a joke one Christmas and he knows for a fact that Zayn read that thing cover-to-cover.

But he digresses.

“I dunno why ya think you’d be reading English saying shit like that, mate. Can’t pass A-level English without acting like you want Shakespeare to stick his cock down your throat y’know. And I hear the Queen’ll revoke your citizenship if you slag Shakespeare.”

Louis is so full of it. Not unlike Shakespeare, as a matter of fact.

“I’d have passed my A-levels just fine, thanks. Get into uni, get my degree, and get meself a job so I could come and spank your twenty-three-year-old still-in-year-thirteen arse over my desk.”

“A-level in _fucking_ , maybe.” He really just lives to rile people up, doesn’t he?

Zayn takes the opportunity to draw Louis close, licks a stripe up his neck that ends in a bite, just a _little_ too hard to his ear, “Hell yeah.”

And Louis just really, really, really loves Zayn, ok? How Zayn fits him so well and never misses a beat no matter what manner of filth Louis spews from his mouth. Takes it and throws it back at him a hundred times filthier. They match each other pound-for-pound like two halves of the devil walking the earth.

He’s Zayn who hides all the cables to their ridiculously expensive audio equipment, so Louis can’t make a racket at 3AM on the bus, when Niall’s wanting to sleep so he could cry. Even when Zayn loves to play at DJ just as much as Louis, playing at the Insomniacs-Club.

Hides them all over the bus and corners Louis in his bunk, spends the night fucking him into the early hours of the morning, until they both fall asleep in sweat-soaked sheets (that won’t be washed until the next stop, _Jesus_ ), one hand clamped over Louis’ mouth so he won’t scream too loud and wake Nialler up, _still_. Spends the night fucking him so Louis won’t go rifling through the entire fucking bus like a raccoon scavenging through trash trying to find the goddamn cables. Fucks him so hard Louis forgets to even be mad, and dear Niall gets to sleep like a baby. Keeps two fingers knuckle-deep in him just so he won’t scamper away on shaky-legs, in one last-ditch attempt to find the goddamn cables, just because Louis likes to be contrary.

He’s the same Zayn that’s been caught on video absolutely raging at the paparazzi. When on one terrible occasion they’d been in L.A. and some sick tosser had decided to knock down their baby Niall. He’s the one who’d come back to the house and sat still on the couch for hours, breathing heavy and furious while Louis’d stroked his hair and whispered to him about wouldn’t it be lovely and grand if they could smash every single overpriced, overly-bright camera that ever got flashed in their face. And they could take Niall off to Disneyland when they won the inevitable lawsuits.

Better yet, they could go off the grid at Disneyland and moonlight as mascots. Survive on Mickey-shaped pretzels and Dole Whip. Sneak on all the rides after-hours, front-of-the-line forever.

Louis doesn’t care a whit about sounding insane. He’ll be as ridiculous as he needs to if it makes Zayn smile.

He’s the same Zayn that dances half-naked like a complete dork with Harry, the one who ever dances at all really without embarrassment. They smile wide and shake, rattle, and roll their way around the dressing room while Caroline and her long-suffering assistants try to wrangle them.

The same Zayn that goes on boxing “dates” with Harry after, the kind that Louis’ always had an open-invitation to but can never seem to find the time for. Half because he thinks it’s important for them to have their own bonding time, but mostly because Louis William Tomlinson will never be caught dead near a gym. Even if he knows Harry Edward Styles and Zayn Javadd Malik are insight and positively dripping with sweat.

Not after the last time Liam had tried to coax him into “A bit of exercise won’t kill you Lou, _come on_.” Which, shut _up_ , _Liam_ , it so could. A dumbbell could fall on him and he’d be squished forever and ever, and having that happen to him, having that happen to his _bum_ , would be a travesty. The world would be plunged into abject grief and mourning. Given that Louis’ world for the most part consists of four other boys and their families, he’s not even joking.

Although maybe Liam hadn’t invited him again, not because of his overdramatics, but because they’d ended up sucking each other off in the empty gym. And apparently Liam James Payne needs to work on his self-control, because he can’t very well keep popping a boner every time he sees Louis even near the gym, on the off-chance (one-in-a-billion) that Louis ever decides to go willingly, can he? So really, Louis is on a self-imposed exile from the gym for the-good-of-everyone-but-mostly-Dear-Liam. A right saint he is for it as well.

Not that he doesn’t reap the benefits of said boxing dates. Most of the time Harry and Zayn get so worked up they come back and fuck Louis twice-over. So he gets his own workouts in a way he much prefers, thanks.

He’s the same Zayn that willingly goes along with, sometimes-instigates, and most-importantly supports Louis’ almost-instinctual need to mess with Liam. Helps him toss lollipops like missiles and wrestle Liam to the ground, struggling like crazy ( Zayn does most of the work for this, really). Spends an hour of their free time investigating which lollipops hurt the most when they hit bare skin—Chupa Chups as a matter of fact. Goes around for a week with big round bruises all over his chest from where he let Louis toss hard candy sugar-rockets at him.

The one who agrees to record an audio file of their own pure, unadulterated sex-noises that they present to Liam as an “experimental track” they’ve made, one that they desperately want Big Payno to remix.

The same Zayn that bursts out laughing as they clutch each other consumed by giggles, once Liam comes back with a red-hot face and decidedly pink ears. Takes Liam’s scolding with a smirk at Louis and a cheeky wink for Liam, once he makes note that Liam doesn’t seem to intend to return his USB.

The same Zayn that runs around with Liam in their dressing rooms pretending to be Indiana Jones some days and Bruce Lee on others. Sometimes its Batman versus the Joker, and every which way seems to include a trusty whip and Liam’s butt being smacked within an inch of its life. He goes off to Marvel with Liam one day and runs around like a kid in a candy store, playing at superheroes and spending the next week obsessed with Ghost Rider.

Actually one Halloween Zayn had hoped very much to be Indiana Jones. What a pity it’d been around the same time the fedora (though Louis’d had to endure more than one lecture on the difference between a fedora and a trilby, Zayn is nothing if not persnickety about his hats) had started gaining popularity as the emblem of a very particular, very embarrassing subset of the male population.

They’d gone out as KISS misfits instead and Louis had let him be Indiana Jones in bed afterwards to make him feel better.

But he digresses.

“How’d you be as a teacher though? Make everyone call you sir, yeah? Mr. Malik, _sir_. Zayn, _sir_. Bradford Bad Boi, _sir_.” It’s hard to keep the giggles from creeping up but this is a very serious topic they’re discussing so Louis can do it.

“Oh god, Louis, shut the _fuck_ up, mate. I don’t even _say_ that anymore!” Ok, but Louis has caught Zayn muttering it to himself in the bathroom mirror more than once, psyching himself up for big shows. Louis isn’t one to judge ( _lies_!), in the early days he’d spent more than his fair-share of nervy pre-shows stroking Niall’s peroxide-blond halo and Harry’s and Liam’s curls, trying to calm himself down enough to go onstage without shaking.

“Just trying to give you the full experience, mate. In case you feel like you’re missing out on anything what with the whole world-famous musicians getting in the way.”

And oh, he does sound a bit petulant, doesn’t he? Half the time Louis can start shit but he can’t ever seem to finish it, makes himself all sore from a jab of his own making. Reads tabloid-bullshit churned out by their own management even though it makes him grumpy and gives him heart-aches.

Zayn lets out a preposterously deep sigh (as if Louis is so difficult to deal with! —he is, he knows it), “I dunno why you’re making such a big deal out of nothing, babes. I’m here, we’re together, we’re _all_ together, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That seems to be Zayn’s cue to start round three, ‘cause his hands come back to circle around Louis’ waist, propping his legs up to his shoulders so his chest can press Louis’ soft thighs close.

He’s still loose from earlier, all-thanks to Zayn, and wet enough still with come that Zayn doesn’t have to do much but cant his slim hips forward for the head of his cock to press back in.

Louis’ still tight enough to drag out a hiss from Zayn’s lips though, the sound strained enough that he _must_ be holding back a bit. Probably afraid he’s going to hurt Louis if he’s already a bit sore.

And yeah, Louis knows he’ll start screaming if Zayn even hints at starting to piston his hips _just-so_ , press the tip of his cock _just-so_ against his prostate and holds it there while his hips make evil little circles that make Louis want to _scream_.

He takes the moment to shift his legs under Zayn’s arms, presses his tiny toes into his lower back, so Zayn knows for a fact that Louis doesn’t want him to be gentle in the least.

That Louis wants to get fucked until he’s a crying, sobbing mess, just like he _always_ does. There’s no time to worry about being predictable when he’s trying to get fucked within an inch of his life, alright?

It’s just how they’re meant to be. Just like how Zayn likes to bite him all over and Louis likes to drag his nails down into long, angry, red scratches down Zayn’s ribs. They mark each other up because it’s just how they’re meant to be.

Zayn, lovely boy, never needs to be told twice, picks up his pace until ever nerve ending from Louis’ head-to-his-toes is shooting off past the sky into his brain and popping like fireworks behind his eyes.

It’s almost a cliché to say he’s absolutely buzzin’, limbs shaking and muscles practically vibrating with held tension as Zayn thrusts into him.

Fucks into him until the last stroke feels almost _too_ deep, holds his hips in place like he just _knows_ his cockhead is pressing relentlessly into Louis’ spot. The massive dickhead.

Gets his left hand around Louis’ cock, works it _just-so_ as if they’ve been fucking for the past five years. _Oh, because they have, innit?_ Does it just the way Louis likes it, even takes the time to dip a nail into his tip just because he knows it makes Louis want to _scream_.

And it doesn’t take more than one last nudge of his prostate, and another feather-light stroke of his hand before all Louis can see and hear is white-lights and the sounds of Zayn’s grunts as he spends himself again in Louis’ hole.

Whiting out is kind of like dying, except every death is a good one. Once, a long time ago, Harry’d told him that the completely-pretentious French word for it was “ _la petite mort_ ”—a little death. It’d been before their first trip to France, when Harry’d gone on an all-out French kick in an effort to play good tourist. There must be very little of that trying time left, save for a sad little beret he’s seen tossed somewhere and Harry’s tendency to exaggerate his French accent. And this sneaky little tidbit of information Louis keeps with him, every time he dies a little death.

Anyway, Louis’ just thankful Zayn had remembered to wank him with his left hand, because he wouldn’t have been able to hold himself up if he’d used the right. And Zayn would’ve fallen onto Louis (like Liam always does, _honestly Liam_ ) and they would’ve been a tangled pile of limbs with absolutely no strength to get up and get a fucking washcloth.

Louis just really hates being sticky, alright? Even if its his own stickiness, he’s just rather _not_. Although admittedly, he often thinks that his come looks awfully pretty against Zayn’s mandala.

Thankfully, Zayn can and does get up, and it can’t be more than a minute or two before he’s shrieking at the feel of a cool, positively _icy_ washcloth being pressed against his hole. He’s kicking his legs and flailing everywhere because _evil of evils he won’t stand for this!_ Before Zayn manages to grab hold of his ankles in his free hand.

“Come on babes, be good, don’t wanna have to tie you down and really give you a spanking after all this. Pretty tired meself, y’know. Know how much you’d love that though, yeah?”

Yes, he truly, madly, deeply would. But no, Zayn absolutely doesn’t need to know that. No use giving him more reason to be so smug. He doesn’t need anymore smugness with a cock like that. As a matter of of fact, Louis is routinely surrounded by smug—it’s be insufferable if he didn’t benefit so much from it.

And then there’s that whisper in his ear, rough and fucked out enough that he always gives Louis the shivers, “So how’d I do, Lou?”

He can’t see Zayn’s smirk but he sure can hear it, coating every syllable. Such a dickhead _honestly_ , a _rhyming_ dickhead. Must’ve picked up that habit from Harry, the knob.

It takes Louis no more than a minute before he’s sure an identical smirk shows on his face, “A- _fucking_ -star.”

There’s gleaming white teeth again. Zayn’s smiling so wide, ducking his head down to nip at where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder while Louis reaches up to scritch at the back of his neck.

Zayn likes to bite and Louis likes to scratch, but it doesn’t mean they can’t be gentle sometimes.

“Dunno if you’d want to tell your mum about this result though.”

He gets a slap on the arse for his cheek, and it’s not a half-second later before the same hand is soothing away the sting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry this was supposed to be like smut? But it turned into ~feelings~


End file.
